


Folie à deux

by Tinderbox of Sanity (Sephielya_J_Maxwell)



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Biting, Blood Kink, Demons, Insanity, M/M, Rough Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 06:20:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1294633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sephielya_J_Maxwell/pseuds/Tinderbox%20of%20Sanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One by one, Wilson had discovered and passed through Maxwell’s gates. Maxwell could feel his power fluctuating. Each time that he appeared, he felt less human. Indeed, the look in Wilson’s eyes slowly shifted from hatred to horror.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Folie à deux

  
Wilson had almost made it. He’d survived the shock to his sanity, weathered through the seasons, pressed on despite his hunger and his many wounds, discovered every corner of Maxwell’s worlds, and defeated the demon’s favorite creations. And in the end, he’d been so arrogant as to search for Maxwell himself. Nothing that he did seemed to stop the scientist’s advance. At first he’d only threatened him, appearing every time he woke up to taunt him. But that only seemed to fuel the stubborn scientist. Eventually, his methods had become more drastic.

One by one, Wilson had discovered and passed through Maxwell’s gates. Maxwell could feel his power fluctuating. Each time that he appeared, he felt less human. Indeed, the look in Wilson’s eyes slowly shifted from hatred to horror. Yet it would be too easy to kill the scientist. Besides, he wasn’t sure that he was allowed to directly. This little game was apparently pleasing to **Them** , judging by the fact that his appearances to Wilson weren’t punished. There was a part of Maxwell that wanted to give up. It had been so long; let someone else take over for a while. But stronger than that nagging voice was the growing _need_ to see the scientist _ruined_. It wasn’t enough to have his body, what he needed was Wilson’s broken _spirit_. How long had it been since he’d faced a true challenge, after all?

Maxwell had known that something was wrong with himself when he first appeared. His body felt heavier, more massive, and his back felt bent, forcing him to hunch forward slightly. He’d barely registered the nightmarish claws of his hands as not belonging to him, they seemed so natural! The skin of his back seemed to ripple, but he quickly realized that the tendrils of shadow practically leaking from him were the cause. Even his vision was warped, blurry and tinted faintly red.

A single, solitary gasp had drawn his attention like a hound catching the scent of blood. Wilson’s face had grown so _pale_ , and here he’d gotten used to seeing it flushed with color. The scientist’s lips were open in what seemed to be a voiceless scream, and the pupils of his terrorized eyes were mere pinpoints. Wilson scooted backwards, scrambling slightly, shoulders trembling so hard that it seemed to rattle his bones. Maxwell’s own lips had pulled into a grin, and he swore he felt it widen more than usual. But anger was what fueled him this day. The sight in front of him was enough to feel his temples pulse with rage, and the veins of his neck throb. Parting his lips, he’d pulled his expression into a scowl instead.

" _You insolent, pitiful, insignificant ant! Do not arouse the wrath of the great Maxwell! You will regret coming any further._.."

Memory came in flashes from there. Wilson getting up, and the sight of his back as he ran as fast as his skinny limbs would take him. He even left his bag behind! Something inside of Maxwell clicked, and he’d given chase. Heavy breath and a pounding headache, along with the faint feel of the ground under his hands—hands? Oh yes, he’d been using them to help him run. Eventually, he’d caught up. He was sure he’d thrown the scientist down hard enough to break something, but then, Maxwell’s shadows probably cushioned the fall. It must have broken Wilson’s nose at least, as blood flowed freely from it when he turned the small man over onto his back.

His hand was large enough to circle Wilson’s waist entirely, and he felt delight rush through him as the scientist arched his back when he squeezed, his scream of anguish filling the demon’s ears. Something warm across his hand led him to realize that one of his fingers had sliced through Wilson’s shirt and waistcoat, piercing his skin.

“ _Max… ease, please_ —,” Wilson’s voice was muffled, distorted, like a gramophone that was badly damaged. No, more like a muted trumpet? That pretty mouth was moving so quickly that it would have been impossible to understand him anyway, right? He squeezed tighter, and Wilson’s voice grew strained. The smaller man’s pale and trembling hands took a hold of Maxwell’s long fingers in an attempt to open them, but it was too slippery with blood, and Maxwell growled at the fact at attempt had even been made. The shadows of his back slithered around his back to the front of him, wrapping around Wilson’s limbs like vines, and cutting into his clothes as they did. At best they gave the scientists skin mere shallow slices, but his clothing was left in ribbons. Finally they wrapped around Wilson’s wrists, jerking them up above his head. Only then did he hear a sickening _pop_ , and Wilson’s voice reached a brand new pitch as he screamed, his shoulder slipped out of place.

“ _I’ll give you something to scream about_.” Maxwell growled, his voice more beast than man, and the echo in his head was hollow and cold. Releasing the smaller man’s waist, those long fingers had slid under Wilson’s ruined clothing. With a terrible rip of fabric, they came away piece by piece, though Wilson wasn’t unscathed by the process. But the time that he lay naked under the nightmarish demon, he had at least six new open wounds. Maxwell could smell his blood, and the thought of fine wine crossed his mind.

“ _Sto… don’t_!” Again that voice wavered, as if Wilson was shouting into the wind.

 _It doesn’t matter_. Maxwell told himself. _He has to be punished. Broken. Ruined. Defiled. Obliterated._

The demon bent down—and it was quite a ways! He loomed over the trembling man, overjoyed to see that tears were finally filling those blue eyes. Breathing in deeply, he pressed his nose right against Wilson’s tiny little neck. Such a fragile thing; the neck of a wine glass! How fitting! His tongue--was it always this long?—slipped from between his parted lips to taste Wilson’s pale skin. Sweat was salty, and the blood metallic and sweet. His tongue quickly found a cut on the scientist’s chest, and he dug the tip into it. He felt the smaller man’s body give a strong jolt, and at first he thought it was due to his tongue. Glancing down, he saw that two shadow hands had grasped a hold of Wilson’s thighs, holding them apart despite the scientist’s writhing and kicking. One thick shadowy tendril traveled up along Wilson’s pale inner thigh, and Maxwell felt a spark of pleasure. Was he controlling that?

Just a second after the blunt end of the tendril slid out of sight, he witnessed Wilson’s hips give a sudden jerk. Right, that’s what he wanted. Not to devour, but to be inside. Now that he was aware of it, he felt all the pleasure that came with that. The tendril was an extension of himself, after all, and so when it began to thrust into the helpless scientist, Maxwell groaned in pleasure. Wilson’s knees bent as much as they were allowed, shaking as he tried to close them, but two thin tendrils shot up from the ground to grab his ankles and put a stop to that.

“… _exwell… ease.. op_ …”

“ _Shut up. Shut your mouth, you worthless miscreant_!” He growled without thinking, and he turned his eyes back towards Wilson’s wet and flushed face. Maxwell was beside himself, watching as his hand moved on its own. He wrapped his fingers around Wilson’s head, all the way, until his middle finger reached Wilson’s left eye. The end of that clawed digit cut into the flesh above the scientist’s eye, though curiously, it only seemed to provoke a whimper this time. One blue light went out as Wilson closed that eye, his tears becoming red on that side. _That’s better, see? He can learn! You’ve almost got him._ Shadowed hands raised from the ground like ink spilling in reverse, and he felt each place they touched as if they were his own palms—all of them.

It started at Wilson’s narrow chest where his heart was working overtime, and the pert little buds of his nipples, which he rolled under his thumbs, drawing out a weak groan from the smaller man. More hands traveled over his ribs, over every bump of them, though he couldn’t help but slide his fingers into a wound that he found on Wilson’s right side. The scientist clenched his jaw, coughing, the blood from his nose flying from his lips in a fine spittle. It was so warm around his fingers, so wet, not unlike Wilson’s mouth or nether orifice. As if acting on his wish alone, another tendril forced its way into Wilson’s mouth without warning. When he thrust the fingers further into the wound, he _felt_ Wilson’s jaw bite down on the tendril, and there was a shock of pain. But the scientist had also tensed up down below, conflicting the sensation with one of pleasure. Wilson was screaming again, but it was muffled by the tendril in his mouth. Every now and then he would gag as it thrust into his throat, clenching up each time.

Maxwell pulled his fingers out of that wound in favor of gripping Wilson’s narrow hips. The demon knew that he was everywhere, that every touch and every sinful item penetrating the scientist was his own, and yet he was beside himself. His every dark desire had taken over, and all he had to do was watch. Yet somehow, one rogue hand had gotten the idea to grab a hold of Wilson’s flaccid member. The scientist shuddered, and there came a strange stillness over him for a brief moment. He screams slowly turned to whimpers, and his face, what Maxwell could see through the blood, was flushed and red. Red like the irritation around his multiple wounds, but not so crimson as the blood.

The deviant little scientist was hard! Maxwell laughed, and he felt something wet drip from his lips. Was he actually salivating? Perhaps he really was no better than one of his hounds right now. Wilson’s lips pursed, and he sucked at the tendril in his mouth. The scientists toes curled up, and his fingers dug crescents into his palms. His one good eye was clouded with tears, his brows pulled into a bewildered expression. It only lasted an instant before the injured eye opened. Oh, that couldn’t be good! The white of Wilson’s left eye had turned black, the pupil white instead, and he seemed heedless of the blood that obscured his vision. Slowly, the scientist spread his thighs, arching his back.

 _So that’s how it is_. Maxwell thought. At last, he’d done it!

The demon was so distracted that the piercing pain in his side caught him by surprise, and Maxwell grunted, looking down to see that Wilson had gotten one hand free. But it wasn’t his hand any longer, or at least, not his completely. Long claws not unlike Maxwell’s own dug into Maxwell’s ribs, and the demon felt blood well up in his throat. With a snarl of anger, he ripped that hand out of his ribs, wrapping it with a much thicker tendril. Huh, and that was the arm that had been pulled out of its socket earlier. Had Wilson healed? Is this what it was to be insane in this world? What did that make Maxwell right now? Or the scientist, for that matter.

Wilson now growled when Maxwell’s shadow pulled his hand back up. It crossed Wilson’s wrists, coiling tight around that shadowed arm, which almost seemed to be smoking. Little wisps of shadow danced upwards from Wilson’s arm, and Maxwell would have thought it pretty, had it not tried to rip out his lungs. He released the scientist’s head, slamming his hand down onto his chest instead. With his palm at the bottom of Wilson’s ribcage, his fingers reached over the smaller man’s shoulders. Yet still, the scientist’s body shuddered in what was apparently pleasure, judging by the lift of his heels from the ground, and the writhe of his hips. “ _Enjoy that, do you pal_?” Maxwell taunted out of pure habit. His lumbering body finally moved, pressing his hips between those bruised thighs. The tendril slid out of Wilson’s throat, and the scientist cried out at once, eyes fluttering and falling to half-closed.

It was quite a bother to get his own pants open, considering the state of his hands, but Maxwell’s whims once again took form. Shadow hands opened the front of his pants, allowing his long-ago full arousal to be freed. The thick tendril that had been thrusting into the scientist’s helpless body jerked back, prompting Wilson to growl in frustration. Maxwell took its place within a moment, and never had he felt the petite little scientist grip him so tightly! Pitiful screams of pleasure spilled forth from Wilson’s lips, hoarse due to his raw throat. And Maxwell thrust his hips hard enough to jolt that slender body with each one.

It wasn’t _sex_ , it was violence. Feral and predatory, and yet they both burned with lust. Had Maxwell done this to him, or had it been inside of Wilson all along? This darkness, this insatiable desire. The smoking shadow was spreading slowly, traveling down along both of Wilson’s arms. Maxwell’s hand removed its self from Wilson’s chest, resting on the ground so that he could bend down. It was on impulse, something that his muddled mind thought was a good idea. His lips pressed against the scientist’s own, and when those lips parted, the demon’s tongue slithered in. The slice of pain made Maxwell’s vision go red, and he pulled back. Blood spilled from his mouth, trickling over his chin and dripping onto Wilson’s chest. The scientist turned his head, spitting out the part of the demon’s tongue that he’d bitten off. Wilson’s brows were drawn, his lips still parted for ragged breath, and he smiled coquettishly as he licked the blood from around his lips—a mixture of his own and Maxwell’s. He didn’t seem to know he’d done anything wrong. It was perfect.

Maxwell couldn’t remember much of what happened next. More blood, more struggling, and _unbelievable_ pleasure. The next thing that he knew, his eyes had opened to the empty throne room. Heart in his throat, he had immediately searched for Wilson. It was his world, he knew every little nook and cranny. He expected to find him dead, mutilated as few had been before, when they made it that far. Though he’d never had _that_ experience with anyone else. No one else had accepted insanity as an escape.

He found him in a lake. The scientist was right back where he had started, in the world of the first gate. He sat in waist-deep water, sobbing as he washed the blood from his skin. His skin which was pale again, and though raw, it was almost free of any major wounds. But his arms, they were different. The tips of his hands still retained their inky-black claws, and the veins in them were black. And even from his throne, Maxwell could see that Wilson’s left eye hadn’t returned to its natural blue. So then, that was it. Maxwell had failed. In his attempt to destroy his plaything, he’d strengthened it. However, Wilson’s current state was connected to his own. The memory of pleasure was surely shared. This was certainly going to make the game a bit more interesting.


End file.
